


welcome to new york

by surrenderer



Category: Kylux adjacents - Fandom, Peter Rabbit (2018), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, This Is Where I Leave You (2014)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff without Plot, Kylux Adjacent Month 2020, Kylux Adjacents, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer
Summary: Thomas has to look away from Phillip, or else he’s going to cave under that hopeful spark in his eyes. He knows this type of man from back home—they’re the same all the world over. Charming, easy to flirt with, more than likely fantastic in bed, but not good for much more than a night or two. It’s a tempting offer, though.(Or, Thomas McGregor meets Phillip Altman-- just not under the most auspicious of circumstances.)
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Phillip Altman/Thomas McGregor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49
Collections: Into the Adjacentverse: Kylux Adjacents Month 2020





	welcome to new york

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I've only watched Peter Rabbit once and I've never seen This Is Where I Leave You in full, so any shaky characterization is absolutely my own fault.
> 
> This one's for the incredible kylux community on Twitter, who've all been nothing but warm and welcoming over the last few months.

Despite his temporary-turned-permanent move to the country last year, Thomas has always been an admirer of cities. London will forever hold a soft spot in his heart, but when he finds himself in New York for business, it’s not like he’s disappointed about it either.

It’s his second time here; the first visit was when he was younger, with barely any money to his name, but still enough to get a plane ticket and a cheap hotel. New York seemed like the place to be for any self-respecting city boy who wanted to get some kilometers under his belt. It was a fun four-day adventure; Thomas kept largely to himself and didn’t pack a single suit, saw the sights and ate a hot dog from a street vendor, and reveled in the anonymity of being just another tourist in this massive city.

Now he’s older and wiser, so he’s less impressed by the skyscrapers and the hustle and bustle of everyone around him, but it’s such a difference from sleepy Windermere that he feels like he’s in a fever dream, even after spending years in London.

Having lived in a big city and taken the tube and buses and all that, being bumped into and jostled is nothing new. Irritating, certainly, but not uncommon. But still, as Thomas prepares to leave the fancy hotel lobby bathroom and goes to push the door open, he doesn’t expect the door to swing open, away from him—he’s barely realized what’s going on before a large _something_ bumps right into him in the doorway, and something wet and warm spills right down his front.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I didn’t realize—they should install those corner view mirrors or something in these places,” someone is saying, but Thomas blinks and looks down at himself in astonishment, where there’s a large stain of liquid seeping into his previously clean sweater. It smells like coffee.

He has a meeting in the hotel restaurant with some potential toy suppliers in twenty minutes. He doesn’t even _drink_ _coffee_ , although he can’t seem to find a decent cup of tea in this awful city, so he may have to stoop that low eventually. And now here he is, in the lobby bathroom, with what is possibly a very large amount of it on his sweater, courtesy of the man in front of him.

“Is that my—ah, _shit_ , fuck, man, I’m sorry,” the stranger says, setting aside a now-empty cup (why is there no lid on it?) on the counter, and Thomas looks up from the mess on his sweater and directly into a pair of wide brown eyes. “That’s definitely my fault—here, hang on—” there’s a handful of paper towels being pressed into his hand, and _someone else’s hand_ on his chest, trying to mop up whatever hasn’t soaked into his sweater already.

“I’ve got it,” he says shortly after a moment, trying to brush the man’s hands aside so he can get a better handle on the situation; this stranger is apologizing, but he _did_ just spill lukewarm coffee on him, and he’s only got a limited selection of clothing with him in his hotel room, which is not at this particular hotel either—he hadn’t exactly planned on sacrificing an entire freshly-laundered sweater to the altar of New York City twenty minutes before his meeting.

“No, let me help, I just spilled my whole cup of coffee on you. The least I can do is help you clean up,” the stranger says insistently, turning to wave his hand in the direction of the paper towel dispenser. It obliges him by spitting out a length of paper, so he tears it off and waves again; now that he’s preoccupied with the dispenser, Thomas can stare at the stranger who’s ruined his second-favorite dark blue sweater—they’re nearly the same height, but he’s got these broad shoulders and a narrow waist and biceps like no one’s business, perfectly accentuated by the red checkered button-up shirt he’s wearing, collar popped open and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Thomas’s entire throat goes completely dry as he takes in the sight, as dumbstruck as he is by how attractive he is. It doesn’t help that he’s also got wonderfully expressive brown eyes—currently looking remorsefully at him—and a generous mouth made for kissing, framed by a neatly-trimmed dark goatee.

God, Thomas could spend days wrecking himself on that mouth alone.

He’s also got very large hands. Large hands that are currently still patting Thomas’s chest and waist with a paper towel, ostensibly to clean up the coffee spill, although Thomas is getting the suspicion that he might be hindering more than helping. This strange man does seem inclined to let his hands linger a little longer than is truly appropriate.

 _Focus,_ he tells himself sternly. He’s supposed to be _upset_ —he’s on his way to a meeting and he does not have time to be lusting over a stranger who spilled an entire cup of coffee on him, who’s also touching him all over unnecessarily with his long fingers and looking like a sad puppy while he does it. He doesn’t have time to kiss that soft mouth, to let him hoist him up on this very counter and find out what that goatee feels like on his neck and between his legs—

Fuck.

“I don’t suppose you have another sweater hidden somewhere that I could borrow?” Thomas asks finally, looking down at himself one more time with a wince. Not only does he not have time to indulge in fantasies about strange men who spill drinks on him, he doesn’t have time to go back to his own hotel to change, which means going back out to the nearest store to buy a new sweater, or taking it off and finding somewhere to stash it before his meeting. It’s a good thing he put on a button-up underneath this morning—it’s more casual than he would’ve preferred, but the shirt is a pleasant shade of pale blue, it’s freshly ironed, and he’s also a toy shop owner from a small English town, not on the salesfloor at Harrod’s children’s department anymore. The standards are slightly lower for him these days, as much as he hates to admit it.

The stranger shakes his head. “I could buy you one?” he asks, an oddly hopeful tone in his voice. Thomas hates how charmed he is by his American accent—the soft drawl of each syllable is soothing to his nerves, already tightly strung by this incident. “You could take that one off right now. I’ll buy you a new one to replace it.”

“I don’t think I have the time to shop with a total stranger,” Thomas says, checking his watch one more time to confirm his worst fears. “I’ve got a meeting in fifteen.” Showing up in shirtsleeves is not his preferred option, but it’s better than showing up with a large dark stain on his front. “I’ll go without. Can’t get much worse than this.” He considers ducking into a stall for some privacy, but it’s not like he’d be flashing this strange man by removing his top layer. There’s no time for shyness here.

Thomas can feel his new companion’s gaze as he grips the hem of his sweater and starts pulling upwards. They’re nearly the same height, yes, but he feels smaller under the weight of those dark eyes and the curl of his smile.

When a pair of hands land on his hips just as he’s gotten his sweater over his head, Thomas squeaks, and desperately hopes that the sound was muffled by his clothing.

“I’m Phillip. So now we’re not total strangers, just mostly strangers,” a disembodied voice says, and Thomas pulls the sweater straight off and sets it down on the counter. Phillip’s hands are still on his hips, but Thomas can now see what that’s about—he was helping him keep his shirt from riding up with the sweater. He can still feel the heat of his palms through his thin shirt and the way Phillip’s fingers curve around his hips like they were meant to be there.

“Stranger or not, I still don’t have time to go shopping with you,” Thomas points out, then remembers his manners. Even if Phillip did spill coffee on him and ruin his clothes, he hasn’t spent a lifetime in customer service without being able to hold himself back when it counts. “I’m Thomas. Thank you for your… assistance,” he finishes, unable to think of anything else remotely complimentary about the current scenario. “Even if it _was_ your fault I needed assistance in the first place.”

Phillip shrugs. Thomas watches the lines of his shoulders and forgets to ask why Phillip’s hands are still on him, but he lets go a moment later and Thomas feels the loss keenly. “Let’s say I owe you for all the trouble,” he says. “If not a new sweater, let’s say a drink? You’re not from around here, right? I know some great places to get a drink, none of that weird nightclub bullshit.”

“What gave it away, the accent?” Thomas asks dryly. A drink sounds appealing, but he’s got other things on his mind right now. He _should_ have other things on his mind right now beyond this terribly charming American. Emphasis on _terrible_. “Look, I appreciate your concern about my plans and my sweater. But I do have an appointment soon.”

Phillip does have the grace to look embarrassed, although he’s still inclined to smile every time Thomas meets his eyes. “Okay, okay. Later, though? You’re not from around here, you don’t know your way around yet… we’ll get a drink, you can yell at me for ruining your clothes, it’ll be a great time for everyone involved.”

He’s persistent. Thomas has to look away from Phillip, or else he’s going to cave under that hopeful spark in his eyes. He knows this type of man from back home—they’re the same all the world over. Charming, easy to flirt with, more than likely fantastic in bed, but not good for much more than a night or two. It’s a tempting offer, though. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” he hedges, turning towards the mirror so he can start putting himself to rights, starting with his hair. It’s a mess now, thanks to his sudden need to strip in a hotel lobby bathroom, but he manages to comb it back down with wet fingers and it looks presentable. It’s the best he can do under the circumstances.

“Afraid I’m a serial killer?” Phillip asks, watching him in the mirror curiously as he leans against the wall next to the paper towel dispenser. No one should look that good while leaning against a _wall_ , Thomas thinks. “I promise I’m not. You can call my siblings; they’ll vouch for me. I have no interest in killing very hot British men that I meet in bathrooms.”

“I hope you don’t make a habit of spilling coffee on them either,” Thomas mutters, peering at himself one more time in the mirror and straightening out the collar of his shirt. There. Not the best he’s looked, but certainly not the worst either. “How do I look?” he asks, turning around to face Phillip again.

Phillip looks him up and down slowly, eyes lingering at Thomas’s waist and hips through his unfairly long lashes. “All good from this side. But are you sure we got everything? What if the coffee splashed?” He actually does manage to sound concerned as he gestures for Thomas to spin around, and Thomas... Thomas turns around, looking at Phillip over his shoulder. So sue him, he’s only human and he’s going through an awful dry spell ever since he moved to Windermere. Even if this would be nothing more than a fling and possibly a terrible idea, it’s still nice to have another man’s eyes and attention on him.

Phillip backs up a step, eyes clearly on his arse now with a smirk.

Well, it’s a good thing Thomas wore his nice trousers today. They’re an expensive pair from Harrod’s, purchased with the employee discount two years ago and tailored to fit his long legs perfectly, and Thomas keeps them in good shape by strictly adhering to the instructions on the fabric care tags.

He decides that it was well worth every penny as Phillip stares blatantly at his arse with no shame, and then pats the curve of the right cheek. Thomas jumps at the touch, then flushes red. “Got a bit of it here, but no one’s gonna notice unless they’re staring really hard at your cute ass,” Phillip says, patting the spot again. Thomas is certain he didn’t imagine the subtle squeeze either, just like he’s certain Phillip is lying about the coffee stains on his trousers. He has to resist the urge to wriggle his hips, though, to entice Phillip into touching him again and really _meaning_ it this time.

 _Not the time, nor the place_ , he reminds himself. “Well, thanks for that report,” he says, clearing his throat as he turns back around and willing his blush to go away before Phillip notices. He really doesn’t have time for flirting in a hotel bathroom, but Phillip has him pinned here by the sinks with his presence alone, and Thomas has to remind himself, sternly, that he has other things to be focused on right now. “If that’s all, then I should get going.”

Phillip smiles sheepishly, and Thomas hates how he wants to melt at the sweet sight. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles like that is dangerous; this is a man used to charming his way out of, and into, everything. “Sorry again about all of this. But seriously, I’ll make it up to you, I mean it. A drink _and_ a new sweater tonight, how about that? I’ll even try to get the same shade of blue, you looked good in it.”

Thomas thinks it over, or pretends to, like his mind isn’t already made up. He should make Phillip pay for his cleaning bill, but there are other types of worthwhile apologies as well. “Here,” he finally says, pulling a business card and pen out of his bag. He writes out his phone number in the blank space underneath the Windermere shop number. He’d had to get an international phone plan for the week, given that he was in New York for actual business-related reasons, but he never expected it to come in handy for something like this.

“Send me the time and location later,” he tells Phillip as he hands him the card and tries to ignore the way Phillip lights up when he looks at it. “I really do have to get going.”

“I’ll text you,” Phillip says, looking at Thomas with a smile that’s just on the edge of a smirk, like someone who knows he’s gotten his way in this battle of wills. It’s a victorious smirk, and Thomas finds that he’s not all that upset about losing. “I’ll show you a great time, I promise. You won’t be disappointed.”

Thomas rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe Phillip, but he lets the memory of that smirk carry him all the way across the lobby and to the restaurant. He’s right on time for his meeting.

It’s only after he’s shook hands with the suppliers and sat down at the table that Thomas realizes he’s left his sweater behind.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to write the insanely hot hotel sex they have that night, you have my full blessing.
> 
> I am on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/parttimewonders) and [Tumblr](https://part-timewonders.tumblr.com/) these days, so come say hi!


End file.
